


Beginning.

by BlindtoDreams



Category: Glee
Genre: Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindtoDreams/pseuds/BlindtoDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Santana realize simultaneously how little they like the idea of spending their lives with the lovers they’re with, now that high school is over and every decision matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> 30 Day Writing Challenge - Prompt 1: Beginning.

> It wasn’t an occasion of romance. On that much, and without bantering back and forth about it, they could promptly agree.   
>   
> Santana disdained fanciful gestures. She hated heart-shaped boxes of drugstore candy, she thought flower bouquets were a waste of money, she was passionately anti-poem.   
>   
> Quinn, on the other hand … Quinn had been wined, dined & ‘treated like a lady’ enough by creatively vapid suitors to last a lifetime. The thought of another menu teenagers shouldn’t be ordering from in a restaurant with table linens and some gangly testosterone tower in an ill-fitting suit across the table from her, pretending interest, made her sick with rage.  
>   
> So it wasn’t romantic. And that was okay.   
>   
> The TA Travel Stop and 24-Hour Diner made constant noise around them. Fryers scorching the nutrients out of potato goods, the faint insect hum of flourescent light bulbs and old men with yellow skin and tired eyes ordering breakfast kept the girls occupied during moments of silence.   
>   
> There were going to be moments of silence, sometimes. That was okay, too.   
>   
> They had tried to help each other pack last night. Four more years of stiff, repressive education were waiting. Brittany was waiting. Joe was waiting.
> 
> The conversation started almost as if it had been in Quinn’s room all along, hanging in the air and biding time until it had two mouths to speak from. Santana panicked. Quinn cried. Somewhere, somehow, they’d both made a fundamental error in planning their futures.   
>   
> Now, they were here - the TA Travel Stop, thirty miles outside of Ohio and picking absently at a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf, with an awful decision to make.   
>   
> Back in time, to those who loved them, but did not satisfy? Or forward, wherever, together?   
>   
> “Do you even have any money?”   
>   
> Santana lifted a shoulder dismissively, as though it didn’t matter. “I don’t know, about 40 on me. You?”   
>   
> “Twenty dollars,” Quinn recited. “But it’ll be a few days before my mother realizes I’m not where I’m supposed to be and cancels my credit card. If we hit a bank tomorrow, I’ll have a little over 400.” She was distracted by the math; money divided by gas and food times miles to travel?? divided by gas again. “It wouldn’t last very long.”   
>   
> “It’s a start.”   
>   
> Another silence, another thing to consider.   
>   
> Santana broke first, this time, offering helpfully, “I have a PayPal card.”   
>   
> Quinn’s expression turned, easing out of worry and brightening; incredulous, playful. “ _You_ have a PayPal card?”   
>   
>  “For shit I sell on EBay.”   
>   
> “For shit you sell on EBay.” A hushed, affectionate recitation. She bobbed her head, accepting the information, the idea of Santana hunched over a keyboard, uploading pictures of little Santana treasures to sell. That was Santana - always surprising, and at times, enough like everyone else that she became suddenly accessible, loveable.   
>   
> “What is the big deal? I wasn’t squeezed out on a gravy train like The Heiress Fabray, okay? I needed money, I got some. That’s another $150 right there, keep laughin’.”   
>   
> It took effort for Quinn to swallow her smile, and they each forked up another bite of meatloaf.
> 
> But Santana couldn’t see the way her unexpected online entrepreneurism had helped Quinn make the choice already. She thought, in the heartbeat of quiet settled between them like dirt, that Quinn had changed her mind, wanted to go back.   
>   
> Desperation made her voice sharp, but she made the case for impetuousness and spontaneity as rationally as she knew how.  
>   
> “Let me bottom line it for you, peaches. It wouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t even immediately be fun. But we might be able to pull it off, and we’ll never know if we don’t try.”   
>   
> Quinn had nothing to counter with but a thrill of anticipation turning in her stomach. Santana pressed on, “So. We try?”   
>   
> One more bite, a sip from her Diet Coke, and a long look out the diner window at the new day’s gathering brightness before Quinn replied.   
>   
> “Yeah. We try.”


End file.
